The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For
by and her magical cat Roscoe
Summary: A Tuxedo Ralph story. Features gangsters, car chases, a blonde floozy, and talking plants. Marvel as a suitless Ralph saves the day! And does all his own stunts! Mild innuendo.
1. Appetizing

**The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For**

_Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or situations created for TGAH; I am borrowing them purely for entertainment purposes and am making no profit from their use. Thank you to Stephen J. Cannell, the cast, producers, writers, directors, and crew for giving us this wonderful, timeless show and the characters that bring it to life. _

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_Saturday Night_

_**September 1981**_

_Los Angeles_

"Honey," Ralph called, his voice ringing through the compact suburban LA bungalow. "Have you seen my cummerbund?"

"It's in here Ralph," Pam called from behind the bedroom door. "Hurry up, sweetheart, it's time to go."

Ralph rolled his eyes as he made his way through the living room toward the sound of her voice. The Golden Gavel Dinner was the big night in the LA legal community, he reminded himself. She was just nervous about making a good impression as a new Junior Partner in her firm. That's the only reason she didn't notice he'd been waiting patiently by the front door for the last half hour.

He must have paced by the mirrored coat rack in the small tiled entryway a dozen times before he'd noticed something was missing from his formal black and white ensemble. Well, not missing exactly, he corrected himself. James Bond never wore a cummerbund and he looked just fine.

He pushed open the bedroom door and started into the room saying, "Pam, are you sure I need-"

Pam turned from the dresser and Ralph forgot all about cummerbunds.

Her long, lustrously dark hair normally hung straight or fell in a wavy mane depending on her mood. Tonight it was swept up in a tumble of loose curls that managed the amazing feat of being both elegant and tousled at the same time.

The hairstyle left her long, elegant neck exposed and, Ralph noticed with a thrill of surprise, there was a lot of neck to enjoy. The bodice of her slim-cut, floor length dress dipped down to reveal parts of her he normally saw draped only in a rumpled bed sheet.

He had to admit, they looked pretty good in flame red sequins, too. The rich color enhanced the natural glow of her creamy skin.

Yes, he decided, red sequins definitely had a lot going in their favor. Although he couldn't deny the bed sheet was still his first choice.

"Ralph?" she said. "Up here, honey."

He pulled his gaze away from the many wonders of her glittering dress and saw she was flashing him a hesitant smile.

"Now, be honest, Ralph," she said. "Do you think it's too much?"

She did a slow turn and he was delighted to see the dress was cut as high as it was low. There was a definite flash of thigh as the long skirt trailed slightly behind her movement. She did another turn and he was lost in the play of sparkling light and glimpsed skin.

"Ralph?" she said. "What do you think? Say something, honey."

She had her full lower lip caught in her teeth and was watching him anxiously.

Ralph pulled himself together with a little shake. He realized he was breathing fast and could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He crossed the room to the dresser and gently took her shoulders in his hands

"Pamela," he said, gazing deep into her ice blue eyes, "You look… amazing."

The word was too small to hold everything he was feeling as he beheld this vision in red, but she seemed to hear all the other words behind it – stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, mine.

Her breath quickened as if keeping pace with his throbbing pulse. He bent toward her and was enveloped by an intoxicating blend of jasmine and vanilla fragrance.

Their lips met and they kissed lightly - once, twice. Then the kiss deepened and all he knew was the taste of her mouth and the feel of her warm skin under his hands.

When they finally parted for breath, her face was flushed.

A long tendril of hair had come loose and rested on her cheek. He carefully brushed it back behind her ear and leaned close to nuzzle the soft skin of her neck.

This is where the jasmine is coming from, he thought dreamily.

"How late are we?" he murmured and caught her earlobe gently in his teeth.

"Mmm?" she breathed against his neck.

"Oh," she murmured, "Late? Um…"

"Oh!" she said, suddenly stiffening in his arms.

"Oh, no, Ralph," she said leaning away and glaring at him accusingly. "Don't you dare!"

"Oh," she said, pulling out of his arms and spinning toward the mirror. "Honestly, Ralph, you do that thing with my ear and it works every time!"

She patted carefully at her hair then slid her hand down to the slender spaghetti straps of her bodice. She did a little shimmy inside her dress, tugging the neckline into place.

The small movement almost sent him over the edge. With amazing self-restraint, he resisted the urge to drag her backward onto the bed.

"We're _very_ late," she said as she cast a quick glance over the dresser and snatched up a shiny gold tube of lipstick.

"-ts -nly –nce a –ear," she said with her mouth in a tight "o" as she stroked the lipstick across her slightly smudged lips.

He cocked an eyebrow at her in the mirror. She broke into a grin and dropped the lipstick into her tiny beaded handbag.

"It's only once a year," she said. "After tonight, we won't have to worry about the Golden Gavel Dinner again until next September."

"In my new job, I really can't miss it," she said, running the side of her finger carefully under her eye and examining the effect closely.

Her eyes shifted and she grinned.

"No matter how good the counter offer," she said.

Smiling, he moved behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. Her gray-blue eyes met his bright-blue ones in the mirror. He leaned forward and put his mouth close to her ear.

"Just promise me," he said softly, "That I can enjoy this dress some more later."

"On," he murmured.

He hooked his thumb under one slender strap and slid it slowly down her shoulder.

"And off."

He kissed her neck and felt her shiver under his touch.

"It's a date," she breathed.

He looked up at the mirror and saw her watching him.

"Maybe we'll skip the desert course," she said.

They both grinned and Ralph slipped the strap back over her shoulder.

She bounced her hip against his thigh and he stepped back, laughing.

"Now let's go," she said, "So I can impress everyone with my handsome escort."

She scooped the flame red cummerbund off the dresser and dropped it in his hand, then moved toward the door in a blaze of red sequins.

"I like that color on you," he called as she disappeared around the door.

"I thought you might," she answered from the living room. "I was thinking of you when I picked it out."

He grinned and snugged the cummerbund into place. He checked the effect in the mirror.

Okay, he thought, as he ran his hand through his tousled blond curls, maybe he wasn't James Bond. But he still looked pretty good in a tux, if he did say so himself.

He found Pam a moment later at the dining room table, rummaging through her small black sequined handbag. She gave a little sigh of relief and tugged two small chits of paper from her bag. She snapped the clasp of the purse closed and moved toward the door.

"Whose car should we take?" she said, turning automatically as he lifted her black satin wrap down from the coat rack.

"Let's take yours," he said and settled the shining fabric over her shoulders. "A white Beetle goes better with formal wear."

A few minutes later, Ralph was backing out of the driveway. Pam was checking her makeup in the vanity mirror behind the passenger-side sun visor as he pulled out onto the street.

"I hope your evening isn't too horribly boring," she said.

"With you beside me," he said, "I'm sure it's going to be a night to remember."

As the white Volkswagen vanished around the corner, headlights flared in front of a house halfway up the block. A dark sedan pulled away from the curb.

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Ralph checked his watch again. It had been two and a half hours since Pam had been close enough to talk to and then it was just long enough to tell him his bowtie was crooked. All in all, he decided, "horribly boring" was actually a pretty good description of the evening.

At least he wasn't the only one at the table casting surreptitious glances around the ballroom looking for their missing companions. Unfortunately for his ego, he was the only male.

The only other people still sharing this large round banquet table with him were the wives of prominent lawyers. They were, by and large, solidly built, older women, somewhere around his mother's age.

They seemed perfectly pleasant, but they spent a surprising amount of time talking about country clubs and marinas – two things Ralph had only experienced by driving past them.

His restless gaze finally picked out Pam on the other side of the room. As he watched, she shook hands with a middle-aged man sporting an unconvincing comb-over. Ralph had never realized before how much politics went into being an up-and-coming Junior Partner. He was fairly certain Pam had shaken hands with every man the room by now. Not that he was keeping track, he told himself.

"Mr. Hinkley," said a low, sweet voice to his left. "It must be very interesting to be a school teacher."

He turned back to Mitzi Gold. She was the exception to the "solidly built, older woman" rule.

Mitzi's mane of wavy, blond hair fell around her shoulders in a "just rolled out of bed" way that, knowing the lengths Pam went to for that effect, must have taken hours to achieve. Her full, pink lips pursed in an "o" of concentration as she gazed at him with her vivid green eyes.

Mr. Gold hadn't been seen at the table for at three hours. Mitzi must be just as bored as he was. The least they could do was entertain each other, he reasoned.

Mitzi leaned toward him, resting her chin on her palm. And, he thought, testing the staying power of the baby blue taffeta confection she was currently at risk of slipping out of.

He scooted his chair a little closer to hers, so she wouldn't have to strain to hear him over the sound of the band.

"Call me Ralph," he said, smiling at her obvious delight at the familiarity.

"Ralph," she repeated, beaming at him with dazzlingly white teeth.

"Ralph," she said a little breathlessly. "Would you like to-"

A white-jacketed figure appeared at his elbow.

"Excuse, me," said a slightly accented voice. "Mr. Hinkley?"

Ralph looked up find an elegant Asian man, immaculately dressed in the uniform of the hotel staff, looking down at him.

"My apologies, Mr. Hinkley," he said, bowing his head slightly, "There is a-"

He hesitated.

"-gentleman in the lobby," he continued at last. "He is asking to see you."

"A gentleman?" said Ralph.

The waiter nodded.

"A mature gentleman with a… rather strident voice," he said with an apologetic smile.

Ralph winced inwardly. There weren't many mature gentlemen with strident voices who would track him down at a law dinner. Only one came to mind, in fact: William "Bill" Maxwell, FBI.

He weighed his options quickly. He could try hiding out here in the ballroom. With luck, he thought, he might blend in with the other tuxedos.

A parade of balding, jowly Senior Law Partners marched through his mind. Okay, he admitted, camouflage was unlikely.

Besides, the only thing worse than slipping out of the dinner to head his partner off, would be if he didn't and Pam saw him first.

The waiter gazed down at him patiently.

"Mitzi," Ralph said, rising and dropping his napkin to the table. "It's been lovely to meet you."

He held out his hand.

"I hope we meet again soon," he said.

She took his hand in her cool, slender fingers, but to his surprise, instead of letting go, she held it and stood up from the table.

"I'll come with you," she said, gazing at him with her brilliant green eyes. "It's a little stuffy in here."

"Uh- all right," he said as she slipped her hand under his elbow and rested it lightly on his arm.

"If you'll follow me, sir," said the waiter. He turned and wove gracefully through the knots of chatting lawyers.

Ralph followed, feeling somewhat bemused as the lavender-scented Mitzi glided beside him.

------------------

Pam waved at the many-chinned Lester Mazerve as he sat grinning at her from his table by the bandstand. She returned his smile hoping she didn't look as if she had just swallowed a handful of thumbtacks.

Dutifully, she started making her way through the throng to do her obligatory five minutes with the Senior Partner for Mergers. She sighed inwardly and gave herself the pep talk that had become her mantra through the long evening of speeches and watery hotel drinks.

Once a year, Pam, she chanted silently. Be a good girl for a few hours, then you and Ralph can go home.

And then you can be bad, she added. She felt her lips curl in a wicked smile.

Lester blinked at her in evident confusion and she felt her cheeks go hot. She looked away and her eyes automatically sought Ralph at their table by the bar.

He wasn't there. She paused on her way to Lester's table and scanned the floor. Her eyes picked out each blond head in the room but they all belonged to the arm candy of some middle-aged partner in a too-tight tuxedo.

She looked back at their table, thinking she had just missed him, and realized with a jolt that Mitzi Gold was gone, too.

Whose idea had it been to seat them with the Golds, she fumed. She'd never heard of John Gold before tonight. And she was sure she would have remembered meeting the tall, slim lawyer with his raven hair and gray eyes.

And Mitzi - her IQ couldn't be much higher than her dress size. How could she and Ralph possibly have anything to talk about?

Perhaps they had found something in common, she thought grimly, like a shared interest in Mitzi's low cut dress, and they had gone out on the terrace to discuss it.

She glanced back at Lester. With relief, she saw Don Green had wandered up and the two men were already deep in conversation. Time to find Ralph, she thought. And, hopefully, not Mitzi.

She was starting across the floor when a potted plant tried to catch her attention.

"Psst!" it hissed.

She had a moment of disoriented confusion before the mental picture slotted into place.

"Bill," she said, turning to the plant. "What are you doing here?"

"Shh!" said a gruff voice. "Jeez, Counselor, nice covert skills you got there. Could you maybe, I don't know, be a little louder?"

Federal Agent Bill Maxwell stepped out from behind the greenery. His salt and pepper hair, square jaw, and solid build were all deeply familiar. As was his apparently teflon-coated, horrible gray suit.

"I could say the same to you, Bill," she said, casting a glance down his creased trousers. "This is a formal dinner, you know."

"Yeah, well," he said, his eyes shifting as he apparently scanned the room behind her. "I'm not staying for the fish course."

His gaze lighted on her for a moment and he took in a deep breath.

"You look, uh, nice," he said, his glance lingering on the neckline of her gown.

Abruptly his eyes shifted away and he peered intently at the bandstand.

"Our boy must be pleased as punch to be here with such a- er- dish," he said. She noticed a vein throbbing in his clenched jaw.

She fought back a smile and cleared her throat.

"Thank you, Bill," she said. "I'm sure you meant that as a compliment. Now what are you doing here and what do you want with my date?"

"Yeah," he answered absently, his gaze still raking across the room. "Where is he exactly?"

She turned to check their table again. Still no Ralph. Or Mitzi.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "But I'm really curious."

Bill grunted.

"Okay," he said briskly. "Well, when I find him, I'll tell him you were looking for him."

She caught his arm before he could move.

"And send him back here, right, Bill?" she said.

"Uh," he said, not meeting her eyes. "Yeah, about that, can you get back to Ralph's place by yourself?"

She blinked at him.

"Got car keys?" he said, turning back to her with wide, innocent eyes.

"No," she said slowly. "And Ralph's not wearing the suit."

Bill pursed his lips in a tight frown.

"And-" she went on, keeping her grip on his arm as he tried to step away. "He's not going home to get it. Bill-"

She pulled him close and dropped her voice.

"This is a big night for me, whatever you need Ralph for can wait."

"Yeah, well, here's the thing, Counselor," he said, shifting his weight so the pull against her hand eased. "Marty the Slug just turned up at a building site in Encino under about thirty tons of concrete rubble."

"A lot of folks down at the bureau are ready to write it off as a fitting end for a guy who belonged under a rock, but not me."

"Naturally," she said under her breath. He didn't seem to hear.

"Marty only worked for one guy, long term," he said. "Joey Cupid. Joey was last seen at a meeting with Michael Yan's gang. Yan basically runs the west side. You with me?"

"Joey Cupid?" she said slowly. "Is that a real name?"

"Joey likes to use a bow and arrow," Bill said. "Real fruitcake. Anyway, Yan's brother was in a Russian pen with the brother of Vlad Rostokrovinitz, this Ruskie enforcer-"

"Wait, how do you know all that?" she broke in.

"What?" he said, staring at her blankly.

"About the Russian prison?"

He rolled his eyes.

"Counselor," he said, "Have I ever showed you this piece of tin I carry around? It's shaped like a little shield and-"

She held up a hand.

"Fine," she said. "Vlad Krovnorostovich. Go on."

"Rosto-krov-initz," he enunciated. "Anyways, we think Rostokrovinitz got into the US last month on a forged visa. The likeliest scenario is, he's here to help Joey get a lock on the West Coast with Yan in for a piece of the pie."

"One problem is," he went on, "There's no pictures of this guy. He's wanted in half a dozen countries, but he's like an invisible man. That's his big advantage. He can set up as a legitimate business man and build his racket in the background with Joey and Yan as his main clients."

A waiter wandered past with a tray of empty champagne flutes. Bill gave him a hard stare then continued in a lower voice.

"The other problem is," he said softly. "Since nobody's knows what Rostokrovinitz looks like, we can't exactly put out an APB on him. And an invisible Russian mobster is not really enough to get most guys at the Bureau hopping off the walls like ping pongs."

"Except you," said Pam.

"Right," he said, briskly. "I tell 'em, 'How do you know you haven't seen the guy if there's no pictures of him. You could'a been sitting next to him last night at Ruby's. Get out there and shake him loose.'"

"But they didn't listen," she said.

"Nah!" he said. "Too busy ironing their Wanted posters."

"So you want Ralph to help you-" she said.

"Find Rostokrovinitz," he finished.

"Before he helps Joey Cupid takes over the West Coast."

"Bingo," he said and paused. "Uh, there's just one hitch."

"Other than the fact that he could be sitting three tables away and you wouldn't recognize him?" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "The other problem being-"

He hesitated.

"What?" she said, despite the strong foreboding that she wasn't going to like the answer.

Bill licked his lips.

"Joey Cupid," he said, "Knows what Ralph looks like."

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- _continued_ -

"**The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For"**


	2. Souper Suit

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Ralph Hinkley was confused. The last thing he remembered was floating down a long hallway and hearing whispered voices just above his head.

"You didn't have to rush me," a female voice said. "He would have followed me outside in a minute."

"You were moving too slowly," a faintly accented male voice said. "We saw Maxwell outside the building."

"So he's following us?"

"We took care of that."

What had happened before that conversation, Ralph wondered. He remembered following the immaculately dressed waiter down a long hallway off the lobby.

It had seemed reasonable at the time. You wouldn't want Bill Maxwell hanging around in the atrium giving everyone hard looks and frightening the guests with his strident voice.

You might ask him to wait in the private lounge. And he might go. But probably not, it occurred to Ralph now.

It had also seemed reasonable that Mitzi would come along. Okay, not reasonable exactly, but she wouldn't let go of his arm. He figured Bill could come up with some way to get rid of her. He was good at scaring people away.

He rememberedgetting about halfway down the hall. Then they stopped, and- No, Mitzi stopped to adjust her shoe. She was leaning on his arm, trying to reach the strap and he turned toward her and then –

Then the waiter came up behind him and hit him over the head. Well, he thought, at least that explained the throbbing pain behind his left ear. And it explained _how _he wound up lying in a moving van with his hands tied.

But it didn't explain _why_, he thought grimly. He had a sneaking suspicion the 'why' had something to do with Bill Maxwell.

The van jounced over another in a seemingly endless series of potholes, causing his aching head to collide with the floor again. Ralph gritted his teeth.

Bill was going to have a pony over this. Not three days ago, he'd been saying, "You gotta be alert, kid. They're always looking for one slip. One wrong step and BAM! On you like a ton of bricks. The super suit's not gonna be much help if it's home under the bed."

Of course, he'd been trying to talk Ralph into wearing the suit at all times. That, Ralph had told him, was not going to happen.

"I'm not going to let the suit run my life, Bill," he'd said.

He grimaced as a deep pothole sent him crashing into the wooden bench that was bolted to the wall of the van.

Now, the suit was at home, not under the bed but in the closet, which was really the same thing to Ralph because he was in the back of a van riding at a ridiculous speed through what was apparently the pothole capital of the world on his way to who knew where.

"Okay, get it together, Ralph," he muttered as the first cold threads of panic started to work their way into his brain.

"You don't need the suit for this," he said to the dark compartment. "It's a simple problem. You're a smart guy. Get yourself out of the van."

Of course, the suit would make it considerably easier, he admitted. The coarse rope around his wrists would snap like spaghetti if he was wearing the suit. He glanced around the van's cargo compartment. There was no access to the cab – it was basically a metal box.

Not entirely metal, he realized. One-way tinted windows in the double-door at the back let in enough light to see the wooden benches bolted to the side walls.

A plan began to form in his mind.

Not a plan, he thought, a scenario. He smiled grimly. He was going to get out of this, he thought as he began pulling himself up onto the wooden bench, and he was going to do it without the red suit.

------------------

Bill Maxwell peeled the white VW Bug out of the hotel parking lot while Pam was still trying to find the strap to her seatbelt. She fell against the door with a thump.

"I can't believe you double-parked!" she said, fumbling with the latch of the belt.

"Yeah, well, I can't believe it only took 'em ten minutes to tow my car," Bill growled through gritted teeth. "And I can't believe I've gotta execute a high-speed chase in this 4-cylinder pinball. This night's shaping up to be chock full of fun surprises."

"I still don't understand," she said, jolting back and forth in her seat as Bill navigated through the line of taxis outside the hotel, "Why would they kidnap Ralph?"

"I been following my own advice, lately. Shaking a lot of trees," Bill said. "I was expecting something to fall out, just not-"

His words broke off as he skidded around a silver limo.

"Just not on Ralph?" she said, shooting him a dark look.

"Right," he said. "But when they pulled Marty the Slug and his pancaked Pontiac out of the rubble this morning, they found some surveillance photos in the back. And, wouldn't you know, there's me and our blue-eyed boy walking out of the Bureau."

"They think Ralph's your partner," Pam said, wincing as they narrowly missed the opening door of an LA Times delivery truck. "Bill, if somebody did kidnap him, I want to call the police!"

"Yeah," he barked. "You said that before. Like three times. And I keep telling you, the police are gonna be real handy if we need a bunch of neat little baggies to put him in, but right now-"

He took the corner in a screech of tires.

"-we're trying to find him in one piece."

He laid on the horn and shot around a city bus. Pam dared a look at the speedometer. The needle was hovering on 75.

"Are we going to be in one piece?" she said.

"Look, Counselor," he said. "If we believe that bellhop-"

He spun the wheel and fishtailed through the intersection. A cab screeched to halt in the cross street, its headlights flaring through their window.

"I think we can," she said. "I don't think he'd ever seen a gun in person."

She flinched as they narrowly avoided a parallel-parking Buick.

"Certainly not that close up," she added.

"Yeah, well," he said, "I find a big gun is a great way to sharpen people's memories. Helps 'em remember exactly what you wanted to know."

They hit a straightaway and Pam gritted her teeth as she felt the car jump forward with another burst of acceleration. The taillights of other cars whizzed past at dizzying speed. She was afraid to check the speedometer again.

"Case in point," he went on. "Jerry the Bellhop only needed a little persuasion to remember Ralph heading for the side door with some waiter he never saw before and what sounds like your Mitzi Gold."

"We didn't check the rest of the lobby," she said over the roar of the engine. "You didn't even try the men's room!"

"Didn't have to," he barked. "You get an instinct when you've been chasing bad guys as long as I have. And my instinct -"

He sailed through a red light. She heard squealing brakes and a crunch of metal fading behind them.

"-says they got a ten minute head start while I was wasting time painting you a picture of the West Coast underworld."

"Where my instinct let me down," he said, 'Was I didn't think they'd move that fast."

He downshifted and shot through the next intersection at- Pam braced herself and checked the gauge – 92. She didn't even know her car could go that fast.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the jarring impact of a pothole and distinctly felt he car get airborne before it jolted back to the ground.

"Let's say you're right!" she said. "Where are we going?"

"I've got a pretty good idea I know where Joey is hiding out," he said. "If we can catch 'em before they get to the docks-"

They hit another pothole and her purse flew out of her hands. She felt the breeze as it shot past her head into the backseat.

"Before they get to the docks, then what?" she prompted.

"We may not have to go that far," he said. "Did you see that van?"

She opened her eyes. Bill was staring into the rear view mirror.

"What van?" she said, craning around in her seat.

He clamped a hand over her shoulder.

"Don't look," he said.

She felt the car slow from rocket ship speed to merely supersonic.

"I think we just caught a break," he said quickly. "Look for a loading dock, an alley, something like that."

She studied the buildings zipping past the window.

"I think we're near the Beverly Plaza," she said. "They've got a circular drive. Will that do?"

"Perfect," he said. "How far?"

"Here!" she shouted. "Right!"

He twisted the wheel, stomping on the accelerator and the brake like they were pedals on a boogie-woogie piano. The car skidded sideways toward a parked minibus, but a split second before impact they straightened out and sailed gracefully around the curve. They glided to a gentle stop of the top of the driveway.

Pam uncurled from her crouch. Bill was looking back up the road the way they'd come.

She stared at him with wide eyes.

"You passed the get-away car?" she said.

"We don't know it's the get-away car," he said. "It's an unmarked van with dark windows traveling in the right direction below the speed limit."

He flicked on the hazard lights and waved around a limo that pulled up behind them.

"That must describe a hundred vans in the city at any given time," she said.

"Yeah," he answered. "But how many of 'em is Joey Cupid driving?"

------------------

Ralph gripped the support strut running along the roof of the van with both hands. Not that he had much choice with his wrists tied together.

Getting up hadn't been too difficult. He'd pulled himself up on the bench and from there it was relatively easy to stand.

The van didn't seem to be moving too fast. By flexing his knees as they went over dips he was able to stay upright and shuffle as far as the door.

The next bit was going to be trickier. He was braced and ready. If the van stopped soon, he was reasonably sure he could catch his captors by surprise and kick his way out when they opened the door. After that, well, that would involve more variables than he could think his way through right now.

The immediate question was, when were they going to stop?

The van rattled over another rut and his hands almost slipped from the crossbar. He grabbed wildly before regaining his hold.

Then he heard a new sound in addition to the normal creaking of the van. Something was rattling. It took him a moment to isolate the sound to the door in front of him. Part of the latch was swinging loose.

His glance traced the struts across the door. They looked solid on either side, but they split at the middle where the doors opened out. That one loose strip of metal held the doors shut.

"Okay," he said to the darkness. "That'll work."

Weighing the options, he made a snap decision. He flexed his knees and waited for the next pothole.

------------------

They sat in the driveway at the Beverly Plaza, staring back up the way they'd come.

"Bill, did you see anybody else in the van?" Pam said. "Did you see Ralph?"

Bill shook his head.

"There was somebody in the passenger seat, but I didn't get a good look," he said. "I'd guess it was Yan. I'm bettin' Ralph's in the back. Probably tied up."

At that moment, square headlights appeared at the top of the street.

"Okay, Counselor," Bill said. "Here's the thing. Joey knows what I look like and I don't wanna spook him, so..."

He paused and glanced over at her then looked back up the street. In the brief glimpse she got of his face, she could swear he was blushing.

He took a deep breath and his next words came out in a rush.

"So what I'm gonna do is lean over and pretend to, uh, kiss you. Meanwhile, you watch the van. Tell me when it gets half a block past us. Any questions?"

She opened her mouth, but for the life her, couldn't find a word to say.

"Good, you're a real trooper," he said, staring up the street at the approaching van. "Okay, here we go."

He twisted in his seat and leaned toward her, then stopped as he looked down at her dress.

"Uh, any way you could try not to twinkle so much?" he said, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. "It's really eye-catching."

She looked down at her gown. The lights of the hotel marquee shone and sparkled in the sequins.

"Well, I don't know-"

Whatever she'd been about to say, it completely vanished from her mind. Instead, she inhaled sharply as he bent over her and pressed his cheek against hers.

"What can you see, sweetheart?" Bill said.

"Your ear mostly," Pam said a little breathlessly. The scent of Bay Rum aftershave was almost overwhelming.

"Sorry," he said stiffly. "Tryin' not to, uh, muss your dress there."

He shifted and placed a hand next to her thigh. His head bent lower and his cheek brushed her throat.

Between the tension of worry about Ralph and the tickle of Bill's 5-o'clock shadow against her neck and the very unaccustomed feeling of having Bill Maxwell's chest pressed against hers, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from dissolving in a fit of giggles.

Fortunately, before she completely lost control, the white van coasted past the driveway.

"Okay," she managed to gasp out, "There it goes."

When Bill didn't move, she shifted against him.

"Um, Bill?" she said.

"Hold your horses, sweetheart," he said, his breath warm against her shoulder. "Give him a minute to clear the block."

After what was quite possibly the longest few seconds of her life, Bill pushed up and away. His weight and stubble and breath and cologne were gone in an instant and she was tempted to think it had all been her imagination except that Bill was shifting in his seat like he was doing a stationary rumba and she knew she wasn't imagining that his face was bright red.

He cleared his throat with a sound like a bark and said, "Uh, good work, Counselor. Real professional."

"Thanks, Bill," she said bemusedly as he put the car in gear and pulled out into the street. "Thanks a lot."

While they were waiting for the van to pull ahead, a light blue Honda hatchback turned out of the next driveway. As Bill angled the VW back out onto the one-way street, the Honda braked, adding another two car lengths of distance between them and the van.

She saw Bill's hands clench on the steering wheel.

"Can we get around them?" she said.

"They'll turn in a minute," Bill said.

"How do you know?" she said.

"'Cause I'll shoot out their tires if they don't."

To her relief, the Honda put on its signal and turned left onto a side street. Bill edged the car forward. She suddenly noticed the sound of police sirens rising in the distance.

"I'm thinkin' of changing that saying to 'There's always a cop around when you don't need one'," Bill said.

"I still think we could use the police," she said. "Why don't we just let them help?"

"Because, Counselor," he said. "We don't want to spook these punks. Jimmy Cupid has got a notoriously short fuse and we don't know who's riding in the back with Ralph. He's probably out cold. Completely helpless."

Pam still thought there was a very good chance Ralph had come back from the men's room and was now standing in the ballroom looking puzzled. But on the off-chance Bill was actually right…

She stared at the double doors of the van in the lane in front of them. Come on, Ralph, she thought, if you're in there, give us a sign.

------------------

Ralph felt the van drop into another pothole. Before it hit the bottom of the dip, he pulled up on the overhead bar, raised his knees and kicked out at the door with both feet.

He'd timed it right. The sound of the impact against the doors coincided perfectly with the thud of the tires going over the rut.

There was definitely a gap showing from the top of the door to the van floor.

Ralph flexed and waited. There was a sharp drop and before the van hit the bottom, his legs were rising.

On the thud from the wheels, he kicked out with all of his strength. The doors crashed open and he looked down into the startled faces of Bill Maxwell and Pam Davidson.

------------------

"Ralph!" Pam said, grabbing Bill's sleeve. "Bill, it's Ralph!"

"Yeah," Bill said evenly. "Counselor, I got the funniest feeling you didn't believe me before."

"Oh, be offended later," she snapped. "How are we going to get him out of there?"

"Actually, honey," he said thoughtfully. "It looks like he's getting himself outta there. Are you sure he ain't wearin' the suit?"

"No, I mean- yes!" she said. "I'm sure he's not wearing it. I saw him get dressed! Unless the suit can go invisible on its own now-"

"All right! All right," Bill said grimacing. "You don't haveta paint me a picture."

He started fumbling with knobs on the dashboard.

"How do you get this ragtop down, Counsel-?" he said. "Hey!"

He swerved into the next lane and jerked back on course when she reached across his lap and yanked the release for the convertible roof.

------------------

From the back of the van, Ralph looked down at the swerving Beetle.

They're arguing, he thought, I'm hanging out of the back of a getaway van and they're arguing.

He saw Pam unfasten her seat belt, then reach up and undo the safety catch on the convertible roof. She stood up from the passenger seat, her long hair streaming in the wind,

and shoved the roof up and back.

Ralph wasn't sure what they had planned. It was too far to jump to the back of the Beetle and the sloped nose didn't provide any usable handholds.

Pam stood and turned into the wind. She looked incredibly beautiful. Like an avenging angel, Ralph thought, as they stared at each other across the open space.

He heard Bill say something, but couldn't make out the words. Pam looked down and scowled at him, then said something back. He clearly saw Bill roll his eyes.

Pam looked back up at him and mouthed, "Hold on!" making a clutching motion with her hands.

He shrugged. He didn't have any other plans _except_ to hang on.

Bill said something else and Ralph caught the word, "driveway."

Pam nodded and leaned out the passenger side of the car, staring ahead. After a moment she pointed and Ralph heard her shout, "Here!"

To Ralph's surprise, Bill spun the wheel and the Bug shot off the road into a hotel driveway. To his amazement, the car jerked to a stop then reversed out of the drive, backing up the street toward him at a ridiculous speed.

Within seconds, the little car was hovering inches from the rear bumper of the van. With barely a moment's hesitation, Ralph stepped off the van and fell into the backseat of the Beetle.

Ralph was vaguely aware of Bill slamming on the brakes and shifting into drive to tear back up the street in the opposite direction. He was more interested in what Pam was doing.

She had crawled halfway into the backseat with him and had her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Oh, Ralph!" she said, burying her face in the shoulder of his tuxedo jacket.

"Good to see you, too," he said laughing. "I'd hug you back, but-"

He pulled out of her embrace far enough to hold up his bound hands.

"Could you-" he began, but she was already working at the tight knots that secured the rope.

"Ralph, I can't believe they kidnapped you," she said as she tugged the end of the rope free. "Are you okay, honey? Did they hurt you?"

"I'm fine," he said. "Just a bump on the head. I'm really sorry about the din-"

His words broke off as the car swerved violently to the right. A horn blared and cut off abruptly. He looked up as they passed a black sedan traveling in the opposite direction. Two shocked faces looked back at him through the other car's side window and he gave a shout of surprise as the other car shot past.

"Pam, did you see that? That was Mitzi! She's one of the ones that grabbed me!"

"Mitzi Gold?" Pam said, her eyebrows rising. "Was that John Gold with her?"

"Counselor," Bill shouted from the front seat. "Is this Gold character a friend of yours?"

"N-no," Pam said hesitantly. She looked over her shoulder at him. "But I think he may be one of yours."

She kept working at the rope around Ralph's wrists as she twisted to face Bill.

"Bill, I never heard of John Gold before tonight," she said. "What if he's actually-"

"Rostokrovinitz," Bill said grimly.

"Who's Rostokrovi-whatever? Who's Mitzi, really?" Ralph said, looking from one to the other. "What's going on?"

Ralph saw Bill studying the rear view mirror. There was a screech of tires behind them and Bill said, "I think you're gonna get some answers real soon, kid. 'Cause here they come."

------------------

- _continued_ -

"**The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For"**


	3. Entrigue

------------------

Ralph twisted in the seat to look over his shoulder. The black sedan was coming out of a turn a few blocks behind. As he watched, it accelerated toward them.

"We just blew Rostokrovinitz's big advantage," Bill said. "We know what he looks like. He's not gonna want us blabbing about it back at the Bureau."

Bill threw the little Bug into a hard right turn. Ralph's wrists pulled out of Pam's grasp and he slid sideways across the backseat. Something small and solid dug into his leg. He shifted and saw what looked like a sequined softball pinned between his leg and the side of the car. It took him a second to recognize the object as Pam's round black-beaded purse.

"Your purse is back here," he said, trying to pick it up with his bound hands.

Pam had fallen sideways on the turn. She pushed herself upright, shooting Bill a dark look.

"Yes," she said. "He's been driving like this since we left the hotel. I'm surprised we're not all in the back se- Bill, what are you doing?"

Her voice rose an octave as the car swerved again. Bill had his elbows on the steering wheel and it was wobbling wildly as he slotted a cartridge into the gun in his hand.

"No! You're not having a shootout in my car," Pam said. "Please, Bill, I love this car."

Ralph could see by the set of Bill's shoulders, he was not a happy Fed. Finally, he shoved the gun back into his shoulder holster and dropped his hands back to the wheel.

"Fine," he shouted over the rushing wind. "But you're hampering justice, that's all I'm saying. Do you see the van yet?"

"The van?" Ralph said. "You think it's going to-"

"They probably got a car phone, too, kid," Bill said, glancing over his shoulder at Ralph. "Or a radio. If that's true, any minute now-"

Ralph jerked around at another sudden screech of tires. Headlights flared on their right, temporarily blinding him. He skidded back across the seat as Bill spun the wheel and they rocketed down a side street.

"Pam," he said, when he pushed himself up in the seat again. "I feel like a billiard ball back here. Could you, please-"

He held out his bound hands.

"Sorry, honey," she said and she stretched back over the seat and began working at the rope again.

Bill shot them a look over his shoulder.

"Okay, gang," he said. "Listen up. Old Uncle Bill has to go to work now. You two kids are gonna sit tight, in the car, out of the way, right?"

The rope fell away from Ralph's hands and he gave Pam a grateful smile before he turned to Bill.

"What are you talking about, Bill?" he said. "What do you-"

His words broke off as he glanced ahead and saw the road they were on ended in a loading dock, dimly lit by flickering fluorescent bulbs. The street on either side was lined with glass and concrete office towers.

"Where are you going?" he said, leaning forward to grip the shoulder of Bill's gray suit coat. "This is a dead end."

"Yeah, here's hoping that's not true," said Bill as he sped toward the gaping bays of the loading dock. "Counselor, about how wide is this toy car, you think?"

Pam glanced back at Ralph and raised her eyebrows.

"What do you have in mind, Bill?" she said.

He shrugged.

"Forget it," he said. "I'm pretty sure this'll work."

"Pretty sure-" Ralph started, but the words stuck in his throat as Bill accelerated toward a narrow ramp running up the side of the loading bay.

"Bill!" Pam said, clutching his arm. "Are you crazy? You can't drive up there!"

"One way to find out, honey," he answered.

The VW bottomed out at the foot of the ramp, striking sparks that spiraled up behind the rear wheels. Ralph reflexively bent forward and thrust his arm out across Pam's chest, pushing her back in her seat as they shot up the incline.

They hit the top of the ramp and the Bug fell forward onto the concrete surface of the dock. Ralph saw Bill stomp hard on the brake and he felt the car fishtail before it skidded toward a huge dark square in the back wall of the bay. Bill tapped the brake again and they slid to a stop inside a square metal-lined room.

Ralph didn't yet trust himself to speak without making noises up in the high helium-induced range. He stared around at the metal walls and ceiling for a moment. His brain pulled up a word to describe the room when Bill levered open the driver's side door and climbed out.

"We're in an elevator," Ralph croaked. "You drove into freight elevator."

He suddenly realized he still had an arm braced across Pam's chest. He looked over at her and saw she had a dumbfounded look that probably matched his own perfectly.

Bill's voice came back from behind the car. Ralph twisted around and saw him peering at the keypad beside the door.

"Yep, and this elevator is going up, boys and girls," Bill said. He punched the highest number, fifteen, and stuck his foot out to halt the closing doors.

Bill turned toward them, tugging his gun out of his shoulder holster. Ralph took in his friend's windblown gray hair, the tight look around his around his eyes and the hard set of his solid jaw. To Ralph's eye, Bill looked anxious, intensely focused and very much like he was having the time of his life.

"Okay, you two just sit tight," Bill was saying. "It's shift-change so you shouldn't see anybody upstairs. But if you do, just say you took a wrong turn at Albuquerque and keep 'em busy until you get the all-clear signal from me."

"I'm not waiting in the car," Ralph said and was startled to hear a higher pitched echo. He turned around and saw Pam was staring at him with a glare of determination.

"Yes, you are," he said and this time it was Bill's voice that echoed back. He turned toward the door and saw his partner giving him that square-jawed look he knew so well.

Ralph was half-expecting Bill's next move so when it came he was able to react instantly.

When Bill pulled his foot away from the closing elevator doors and stepped out into the loading dock, Ralph was already clambering up over the back of the car. He slid down the Bug's angled tail and hit the elevator floor in a crouch that easily turned into a forward roll.

He heard Pam's cry of protest as the elevator doors slid shut and he looked up into Bill's face. There was no mistaking the look of delighted amusement there before the ultra-serious Federal Agent on Duty mask fell back into place.

"That was real dumb, kid," Bill said, "And it's exactly what I woulda done."

Bill looked up at the number display over the elevator. It was already climbing up past 5. "Problem is, you got no magic jammies, no gun, and unless that tux is bullet-proof, no protection. Of course, you can always dazzle 'em with your flair for accessories."

Ralph saw Bill cock an eyebrow and stare significantly at Pam's purse clutched in his right hand. He had grabbed it instinctively while he scrambled out of the car as the only thing resembling a weapon within easy reach. Ralph shot his partner a lopsided smile.

"Don't think I can pass it off as a really gaudy grenade?" he said.

Bill smirked and stuck out a hand to pull Ralph to his feet.

"They're stupid," he said, glancing back over his shoulder out of the open loading bay. "Probably not that stupid, though. Better let me give you my spare piece."

Bill was tugging out the snub-nosed pistol he kept at the back of his waistband before Ralph could protest.

"Bill, you know I don't want to use a gun," Ralph said.

"And it looks like I don't have time to learn anyway," he went on as headlights flared at the top of the street outside. "You'd better just let me in on the plan."

"What plan?" Bill said, tucking the snub-nosed revolver back in his waistband. "This was pretty much it, kid. From here the big idea is just, 'nab the bad guys, don't get killed in the process.'"

"It's a good plan," Ralph said nodding. "Especially the last part. So what do we do?"

Bill shot him an ironic look.

"_We_ find a good spot for an ambush," he said, tugging the service revolver back out of his leather shoulder holster. "And _we_ shoot the bad guys before they shoot us. That's gonna be a little tricky for you, seeing as how _we _don't both have guns, but you're a smart guy. I'm sure you'll think of something. Come on."

Ralph trotted behind as Bill circled to the left of the loading dock. For the first time, Ralph noticed the shoulder stacks of bundled newspapers piled in neat rows parallel to the front of the bay. Most were leaning up against the many slender metal girders that supported the ceiling. Bill was hugging the back wall, keeping the stacked papers between them and the street.

"What is this place?" Ralph said, skirting around a loaded hand.

"LA Times distribution center," Bill said over his shoulder. "Never had a chance to use it before, but Saturday night's the perfect time. The 11:00 PM shift change lasts about 45 minutes. We've got the place to ourselves for another half hour."

"Bill," Ralph said as he followed his partner to a dark corner of the bay. "Should I even ask how much time do you spend scouting locations for shoot outs?"

"Times like this, you oughta be glad I got no life, kid," Bill answered, waving him over to a low desk that was half-buried in packing slips and crumpled maps.

When they were both hunkered down on the floor behind the desk, Bill gave him a calculating look.

"Is there any point in me telling you to go out the back door?" he said.

Ralph pursed his lips and appeared to think deeply for a moment.

"No," he said at last. "None at all."

Bill nodded.

"That's what I thought," he said. "Okay, here's the scenario, the way I think it's gonna pan out."

Outside, there was the sound of squeaky brake shoes and two car doors opening.

"We got, I think, three shooters outside, counting Joey," Bill said, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I don't think the girl, Mimi-"

"Mitzi," Ralph said.

"Whatever. I don't think she's a player, but you never know these days," Bill said. "What with women's lib an' all."

Two more car doors opened on the street outside and Ralph could hear several voices in whispered conversation.

"What I need you to do," Bill went on, "Is watch the big picture. If I'm focused on taking Joey out, you watch the other three. Got it?"

Ralph nodded.

"I got it," he answered. "But how are you going to-"

"Kid, when I said I didn't have a plan," Bill whispered. "I meant I didn't have a plan. Just keep your eyes open and do the best you can to stay out of the way."

Ralph bridled.

"What do you mean, stay out of the way," he said. "I didn't come out here to stay out of the way."

Bill set his jaw.

"Let me make it real simple for you, Ralph," he said, giving his guns one last inspection. "If they grab me, they've got me. But if they grab you, they've got both of us. Then who's gonna get the Counselor out of here, huh?"

Ralph took in a breath to protest, but as Bill's words sank in, he closed his mouth and nodded slowly.

"I understand," he said quietly.

Bill nodded and their eyes met. Off to the left in the darkness at the edge of the loading deck there was a faint scraping sound.

"Here we go," Bill murmured.

Bill hunched down farther behind the desk and Ralph imitated his pose. By stretching slightly, he could peer around the side of the desk and see most of the front of the loading dock. Ralph realized it was a better position than the open area by the elevator. The stacked newspapers made it almost impossible to get a straight shot at their position. Of course, the reverse was also true.

Ralph began casting around for a good vantage point to view the "big picture" as Bill called it. As his glance passed the front of the loading dock, he saw a tall man with dark hair ease himself up over the front of the dock and slide forward. In an instant he was obscured by stacks of papers. The quick glimpse was all Ralph needed to recognize him. A look at Bill's tightly focused expression told him he'd seen the dark-haired man, too.

"That was John Gold," Ralph whispered. "Or Rostopovich or whatever."

"Rostokrovinitz," Bill said. "So that must be Michael Yan we heard a minute ago. Joey'd send them in first."

Bill slipped the service revolver back into its customary spot in his leather shoulder holster. He hefted the smaller snub-nosed gun and his gaze shifted rapidly around the open space near the desk.

"You think you could climb that?" Bill asked, cocking his head at a point over his shoulder.

Ralph followed the gesture and saw a stack of half a dozen giant industrial-sized spools of plastic wrap. Probably for foul-weather deliveries, Ralph thought. Each one was a good two feet high.

"I think so," he whispered. "I'll try."

"Do it," Bill said as he eased forward onto his toes, "Get up there and keep your eyes open."

Ralph nodded. He wasn't going to be able to climb and hang on to Pam's beaded purse. It probably wasn't much use a weapon in any case, he thought. He tucked it behind a leg of the desk and scooted backward in a low crouch. As he retreated, he shot quick looks behind and to the side, alert for any movement.

He slid to the base of the stacked rolls of plastic and reached up. The sticky texture made it easy to find hand and footholds. He kept to the rear, away from the front of the loading dock. As he climbed, he felt keenly aware of his bright white tuxedo shirt.

A movement on his right caught his eye and down below he saw a pale shape slide between two stacks of papers. He remembered Bill saying, "That must be Michael Yan." The name sounded Asian. The only Asian he'd seen was the waiter who…

Ralph frowned. The waiter who hit him over the head causing the massive headache that was still thrumming behind his eyes.

The pale shape flicked past again, closer than before. Ralph could see Bill down below. His gun was pointed toward the place they'd seen Rostokrovinitz but his face was turned in Yan's direction.

As Ralph watched from above, Bill shifted, stretched one long leg out behind him and slid back away from the desk, moving crab-wise across floor. He'd traveled a dozen feet and was maneuvering back around another high row stack of papers before Ralph understood what his partner was up to.

He saw Bill's head rise and his gaze flicked upward. It was too dark to be sure, but Ralph thought he saw the agent flash a quick grin before he disappeared around the stack.

Ralph felt the blood rise in his face. Bill had wanted to get him out of the way and, like an idiot, he'd fallen for it.

There was a sharp noise from somewhere beyond the spot where Bill had disappeared. It sounded like a gun barrel being rapped against concrete. Ralph scowled in the direction of the noise. At least, he thought, it was more subtle than if Bill had shouted, "Hey, I'm over here! Come and get me you garbanzo beans!"

But the effect was the same. Ralph saw Yan's sleek, dark hair come into view below. The ersatz waiter had shed the white jacket. He had the sleeves of his oxford-style shirt rolled up to the elbows and his tie undone.

Ralph held his breath as the gunman sidled around the stack of plastic bales, almost directly below him. Bill was going to be pinned between the two gunmen.

As Ralph wondered what he could do that would be more help than harm, a shot rang out from Bill's last known location.

Yan started forward and Ralph had only a split second to think. He used it to hope he was about to land on top of 200 pounds of plastic wrap and not under it.

------------------

- continued -

"**The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For"**


	4. That's Desertainment

------------------

Gripping the topmost bale, Ralph stretched out and leaned back away from the stack. He felt it shift and threw himself forward. Like a felled tree, the bales leaned, toppling in slow motion. As gravity took hold, they accelerated. Ralph clung to his bale as it slipped forward and disconnected from the ones above and below.

His stomach lurched as he found himself in freefall. The breath he'd been holding burst from his lungs as the bale he was riding hit the ground, bounced and fell forward.

He tumbled away, startled to discover he seemed remarkably free of broken bones. On his third revolution he managed to turn the tumble into a forward roll and came up in a crouch. He sat on his heels, rocking with the momentum as he scanned the open space for Yan.

When he spotted the black-clad legs sprawling out from under a roll of plastic wrap, Ralph allowed himself a grin of triumph. But he didn't stop to relish the thought of the headache he'd just inflicted on Yan. There were still two more gunmen to worry about.

Ralph edged sideways and ducked between two stacks, choosing a path roughly parallel to Bill's. Since that first shot, it had been deathly quiet in the loading dock. Well, he amended, apart from the sound of half a dozen rolls of industrial cling wrap hitting the ground.

He was nearing the end of the row and wondering if he should double back when a shot rang out near the front of the bay. Another cracked the night air a little distance away. Ralph heard a hiss and a clatter then the scuffling of feet on the concrete floor. Then a low voice sounded clearly in the sudden stillness.

"I have the agent Maxwell," it said, the words slightly accented.

"Lucky shot," he heard Bill growl. "I really hate it when a dumb, punk Red like you gets a lucky shot."

"Shut up, Maxwell," said a third voice, this one higher and touched with a strong New York accent. "Where's the other one?"

"What other one?" Bill said. "You seein' things, Joey? That's a bad sign in a guy who's already two tacos short of a combination plate."

"Gimme a break, Maxwell," Joey answered. "You're good, but you can't be in two places at the same time. Where's your partner?"

"I'm the only agent on the scene, Joey boy," Bill said. "So far anyway. Any minute there's gonna be so many Feds down this alley it's gonna look like the Rose Bowl Parade took a wrong turn."

"Nice try, Maxwell," Joey said. "I know about you. You wouldn't call for backup if King Kong was using you for a toothpick. I'm just glad it's me that gets to teach you what a mistake it is playing cowboy in the big, bad city."

"Yan!" Joey barked out without giving Bill a chance to answer. "You got the partner?"

There was a ringing silence from the loading dock.

"What's going on, Joey?"

Ralph grimaced as he recognized the low, sweet voice of Mitzi Gold.

"Quiet, doll," Joey said. "We're working here."

"Well, if it ain't Tracey Haddaway," Bill said. "Marco's gonna be real disappointed, sweetheart. You told him you'd wait. 'Course thirty to life is a long time."

"Maxwell, are you gonna shut up or am I gonna have to drop you right now?" Joey said.

"Didn't you get that Ralph guy, yet?" Tracey said. "I thought you could maybe use him as a hostage or something."

"I know what you wanted to use him for, baby," Joey said. "Get back in the car and maybe I won't take it personal. Go find the partner, Vlad. Toss Maxwell down here first."

Ralph heard a rustle and a thud then Bill's voice rang out from farther away.

"Forget the kid, Joey," he said. "He's a civilian. He's no threat to your operation."

"Tell that to Yan," Joey said. "Go get him, Vlad."

Ralph was moving before he heard the first soft footfall from the front of the bay. He slipped through the narrow gap between two stacks of papers and took an inventory of his options. It didn't take long.

He felt the pockets of his tuxedo jacket and pants, hoping for the solid feel of a blackjack he'd forgotten he owned. Predictably, there was no evidence of a weapon. But as his hands slid across the waist of his now creased and dusty trousers, he felt the contours of his cummerbund. An idea began to form.

Ralph reached back and unhooked the pleated red satin and tugged it taut between his hands. It felt solid enough. He began to scan for a good location and spotted a corner where the row of stacked papers ended. Next to it was a support pole.

He slipped around the corner of the row, positioning himself between the papers and the pole.

He didn't have long to wait. Within seconds he heard a soft footfall down the row from the direction he'd come. Ralph tightened his grip on the two ends of the sash.

When the dark head appeared just inches away, Ralph launched himself forward, hooking the cummerbund over the startled assassin's head and giving a sharp tug.

Rostokrovinitz's forehead slammed into the pole with a ringing thump. As Ralph released his grip, the Russian slid to the floor and toppled over onto his face.

Ralph dropped the cummerbund, scooped up the assassin's gun, and tucked it in his pocket.

Joey's voice echoed through the dark bay.

"Vlad," he called. "You got him?"

In the silence that followed, Ralph looked around. He was close to the desk again. There was one more weapon he could think to use against Joey Cupid before he had to resort to the Russian's gun. He started forward.

------------------

Maxwell watched as Joey Cupid craned his neck to stare up into the shadowy loading dock.

"Rostokrovinitz!" Joey shouted. "Answer up, Vlad!"

"I think Vlad's out of the picture," Bill Maxwell said, fighting to cover his grin as he watched Joey's dark eyes scanning for movement. "You're running out of gang, Joey boy."

Joey the Cupid glared.

"Civilian, huh?" he snarled. "Some civilian, taking out the top Russian enforcer on the West Coast."

"I'm as surprised as you are, Joe," Maxwell said.

He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and went on, "Maybe you'd better get out of here before he gets really mad."

Joey snorted.

"You wish, Maxwell," he said. "When I pull outta here, there's gonna be two less Feds in the world."

Joey straightened his shoulders in his dark blue Italian cut suit. Then he waved his gun toward the sedan.

"Over against the car, Maxwell," he said. "I shoulda done this in the first place. It never fails with you cowboy types."

Maxwell reluctantly stepped toward the car. He had a pretty definite suspicion about what Joey had in mind and a rock solid suspicion that it would work. He only hoped Ralph would remember what he said about taking care of the Counselor and wouldn't take the bait.

He flexed his gun hand. Rostokrovinitz's shot had only grazed the skin. It stung, but not enough to prevent him from taking a swing at Joey if he got the chance.

Unfortunately, Joey was at least smart enough to avoid giving him that kind of opening. He herded Maxwell toward the rear of the car, keeping a good six feet back at all times.

"Tracey," Joey barked. "Get out here."

The door to the back seat opened and Tracey slipped out, her baby blue taffeta gown falling in delicate waves around her legs as she stood.

"You told me to wait in the car, Joey," she said, her perfectly curved lips shaping a sulky frown.

"Now I'm telling you to get out," Joey said. "Cover Maxwell for a minute."

He held his revolver out toward the willowy blonde. She looked at him uncertainly.

"I don't know, Joey," she said. "I'm not-"

"Just do it, doll," Joey said, pressing the gun into her limp hand.

She closed her fingers automatically, her manicured nails struggling with the grip for a moment before she raised the gun and leveled it.

To Maxwell's dismay, she instantly shifted into a practiced shooter's stance. Once again, he thought, women's lib had a lot to answer for.

Tracey didn't shift her eyes from Maxwell's midsection as Joey stepped back toward the van.

"What do you want me to do if he moves, Joey," she called after him. "Drop him or just wing him?"

"Just wing him, doll," Joey called over the sound of the van's passenger side door opening. "I need him for a few more minutes."

"Mr. Maxwell, I was wondering," Tracey said, giving him a brilliant smile as she tossed her head to shift the wavy blond hair away from her face. "Your friend, Ralph. Are he and that lady lawyer-"

Joey slammed a heavy black case down on the roof of the car and snapped open the two brass catches that held it shut.

"Enough already, Tracey," he said as he yanked a black glove out of the case and slipped it onto his right hand.. "You been talking about that Ralph character ever since I got those pictures back. Your little beach boy is gonna be so much fish food in a minute, so just forget about it."

Tracey rolled her eyes.

"Don't be so jealous, Joey," she said. "I was just curious, that's all."

"Be curious about how I'm gonna make him sorry he ever got to be Maxwell's partner," Joey said as he jerked something out the case.

It was the biggest, heaviest composite bow Maxwell had ever seen. Not that he'd seen many. It wasn't a common weapon of choice in LA, Detroit, or any of the other cities he'd carried a badge. But it looked nasty enough to make the toughest gun-toting mobster think twice about stepping in front of it.

Joey rested the bow against his shoulder and pulled a long black cylinder from the case. The dim light from the streetlights high overhead glinted off a titanium-silver tipped arrowhead. He glanced around the space in front of the loading dock. His gaze stopped on a stack of papers leaning against the ramp Maxwell had taken the Beetle up only a few minutes before.

"Perfect," Joey said, with a nod. "That way I won't have to worry about blunting my points. Over against the newspapers, Maxwell."

Tracey made a sharp gesture with the gun and Maxwell stepped slowly around the car.

"It's not gonna work, Joey," he said raising his voice so it carried up into the dark bay. "The kids a professional. He knows better."

"I thought you said he was a civilian," Joey commented idly as he slotted the arrow into place and hefted the bow. "Either way, I'm betting he's not gonna be able to resist doing the cowboy thing."

Maxwell reached the stack of papers and shot a look up into the loading dock. Nothing moved.

"Right there, Maxwell," Joey said, giving a few experimental tugs on the bowstring. "Now be a good target and stand still. I'm only gonna hurt you at first, so you'd be better off if you try not to start thrashing around right away."

Joey grinned as Maxwell scowled and turned to stand with his back to the newspapers.

"All right, Ralph," Joey shouted, giving the name a belligerent spin. "I got your partner here. You got ten seconds to toss your gun out and hop down after it or Maxwell's gonna be ready for a new career as a colander."

Joey cocked his head to sight along the arrow and pulled the string back toward his ear. It made a creaking sound as the taut fibers stretched.

"Nine!" he shouted. "Eight! Sev-"

A heavy black pistol thudded down on the asphalt near Joey's feet. The gangster grinned.

"What'd I tell you?" he said, "You cowboys are so predict-"

There was a sharp "thunk" as something small, round, and glittery rebounded off Joey's head. He blinked once before his eyes rolled up and he fell toward the ground.

As his hand relaxed, the bowstring slipped from his fingers. The arrow shot out with a low "tsing." Maxwell dropped to the side and felt the rush of air as it thudded into the papers by his left ear. He stared at the vibrating shaft for a long moment before he turned to Tracey.

She still had the gun, but it was pointed harmlessly at the ground as she stared at Joey lying face down on the street.

"I'd quit while I was ahead and drop the piece, honey," Maxwell said moving toward her. "I think we can still go with a lesser charge like 'accessory'."

He glanced at the round handbag rolling to a stop under the front bumper of the sedan.

"It's a day for accessories," he said, grinning.

"Hold it, Maxwell," Tracey said, her green eyes hardening as she brought the gun up. "I'm not going to jail. Not for Joey, the dope, Cupid. Get away from the car."

Maxwell heard Ralph's feet thump down on the asphalt behind him. Tracey's gaze shifted.

"Sorry we didn't get to know each other better, Ralph," she said, stepping around the car to the driver's door. "I think we could've had some fun."

Maxwell heard Ralph move up beside him. They watched as Tracey pulled the door of the sedan open and slipped into the driver's seat. She put the gun on the dashboard and reached for the ignition.

As the door slammed shut, there was faint "bing!" from deep in the loading dock. Tracey revved the engine and Maxwell heard the rattle of the freight elevator's doors.

Tracey looked over her shoulder and backed the car to the end of the loading dock ramp, turning the wheel to negotiate a three-point turn. The rear wheels of the car bumped up over the end of the ramp and a second engine revved. There was a squeal of tires and a white blur shot down the ramp and slammed into the driver's side of the sedan sending it skidding sideways across the street.

Maxwell stared from the sedan, where Tracey was leaning over the steering wheel and clutching her head, to the white Beetle, where Pam was climbing out of the driver's seat with an apologetic grimace, to Ralph, who was standing beside him staring open-mouthed at Pam.

"I didn't mean to do that," Pam said as she stepped around the car. "I was watching from upstairs. All I could see was a little of the car, but I saw Mitzi get in and I thought you'd want to chase her and- Oh, my poor car!"

She was looking down at the crumpled rear of the Beetle. She looked up at Maxwell with an accusing stare.

"I hope you're satisfied," she said, glaring at him. "Next time you decide to get Ralph kidnapped, feed the parking meter."

She glanced over at Ralph.

"Are you okay?" she said. "Did he at least get the gangsters?"

He and Ralph exchanged glances. Maxwell looked at Pam.

"Lady, your boy Ralph Bond here did it all single-handed," he said. "I'm thinkin' we may want to trade the super suit in for a tux."

Pam's eyes widened and she looked at Ralph. He shrugged.

"We may be stuck with this one," he said, looking down at his bedraggled and dusty formal wear. "I don't think we're going to get the deposit back on it."

------------------

Several hours and many official reports later, the battered white Beetle rattled to a stop by the curb outside Ralph's house.

Ralph climbed out and lifted the seat for Bill. The agent stepped out onto the lawn and stretched.

"I'll never get used to riding in that thing," he said, "It's like a bumper car with a tape deck."

"That bumper car was part of the team tonight," Pam said, the flame red sequins of her dress shimmering in the glow of the streetlight. "And I hope the government is paying to get it fixed."

Bill rolled his eyes as they moved toward the front door.

"Yeah, yeah, just give me the receipt," he said. "The boys in accounting are gonna love that one. Thanks for letting me borrow the wagon, Ralph. I'll bring it back tomorrow. Hey, Ralph, I've been thinking. About that pitch of yours…"

Ralph turned with his hand on the doorknob.

"What pitch?" he said, cocking an eyebrow at Bill.

"You know," Bill said, miming throwing a ball. "When you beaned Joey with the Counselor's purse. Was that a lucky toss, or…"

Ralph shrugged and pushed open the door.

"I played ball in college," he said. "Not bad if I do say so myself. Why?"

"No reason, no reason," Bill said slowly as he stepped aside to let Pam through the door. "I was just thinking, scenario-wise, we might could use that."

"I can't imagine how," Ralph said, lifting the keys to the station wagon down from the peg by the door. "Here's the keys. Try not to wreck it before tomorrow morning."

Bill took the keys absently and leaned back against the doorframe.

"Yeah," he said, gazing into space. "I've got a scenario cooking already. What if-"

"Bill," Pam broke in. "Good night."

"What?" Bill looked over at her, his eyebrows raised. "Don't tell me you're tired. Not with all that adrenaline. What with the car chase and the gangsters and-"

"I'm not tired," she said, grinning. "That's why I want you to leave."

Ralph looked from Pam's bright smile to Bill's puzzled frown and waited for the light to dawn. It took about six seconds.

"Oh," Bill said, his eyebrows climbing into his hairline. "Oh, well, okay, then. You don't haveta paint me a picture."

Ralph could almost feel the heat of Bill's blush as he fumbled with the handle and pulled the door open.

"I mean, I guess we can talk about it tomorrow," he said, backing through the door.

"Although," he said, hesitating on the threshold. "There's just one more thing-"

"Say goodnight, Bill," Pam said.

Bill blinked at her broad grin.

"Good night, Bill," he said, and pulled the door shut behind him.

"Honey," Ralph said, slotting home the latch and turning toward her. "I'm really sorry about the dinner."

She shrugged as she moved toward the bedroom. "It's all right," she said. "You're going to have a chance to make it up to me."

She reached up with one elegantly tapered hand and let down her long, lustrously dark hair.

"Right now," she said. " I think you have a date with my dress, Mr. Bond."

She slipped one slender strap off her shoulder, winked, and disappeared into the dark bedroom.

Ralph grinned as he flipped off the porch light and followed. All in all, the Golden Gavel Dinner had been a disaster. But the desert course looked much more promising.

And now he'd have a chance to finally decide, which was better – red sequins or rumpled sheets? He had a feeling he knew the answer.

------------------

- end -

"**The One the Suit Wasn't Meant For"**


End file.
